“Come on, Ashna. I’m your mother, I know how much you hate the spotlight. You won’t even cook with your grandmother watching. You want me to believe you’re going to cook on television?”

Ashna’s mouth went dry. How on earth did Shobi know this? No one knew this about her.

She swiped the stupid tear that slipped from her eye. Letting the woman make her cry was not something she did anymore.

Stay upbeat.

“Food Network believes I can do it.” She didn’t care that she sounded like a petulant child.

How was it fair that Shobi got to be right in this? Ashna was cutting off her nose to spite her face. Twice over.

Something trembled in Shobi’s voice. “Listen, beta, the way I said it last time was wrong, but what I said wasn’t. At least consider getting away for a while. Come see the work we do at the foundation.” She sounded so sincere Ashna almost believed it, then she went on. “You’ve given so much time to your father’s dream, don’t I deserve the same consideration?”

No. Baba’s dream meant something because he’d used Curried Dreams to give Ashna a life. Shobi had used her work to take herself out of Ashna’s life.

“You have to let that lost cause go.” That sounded an awful lot like an order. The thing Shobi hated most.

Baba had loved poking at her about it. FYI, that was not an order. Before you go off saying no just because you’re too important to be ordered about. Growing up around parents who fought constantly was not something any child should ever experience, because it was impossible not to carry it with you for the rest of your life.

“Get to know the foundation. It might be something that speaks to you, and it’s not in shambles.”

Laughter spurted up Ashna’s throat. She tamped it down. “You were doing so well and then you had to go ruin it. You may not believe this, but I am going to win this show and then I’m going to pull my restaurant out of shambles.”

Guess she was breaking those chains after all, and if she had to deal with the boy—man, now—who had ruined her once, then so be it. She’d free herself by breaking both those chains in one fell swoop.

Chapter Nine

Why had Rico thought that freeing himself from his cast would free him from pain? The thing Rico hated most about being a man was this dumbass notion of never being allowed to show pain. Except on the pitch of course. There you got to milk the heck out of it. His knee hurt like a . . . like a witch. A witch with a broom stuck through her knee. A broom with spikes that had been dipped in acid and set on fire.